


Sophomore Year

by petersnotkingyet



Series: Love is Blind (and so is Kenny) [10]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Blind Character, Blind!Kent, College, Death of an animal, Disabled Character, Epilepsy, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Seizures, Swoops is a good friend, service dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petersnotkingyet/pseuds/petersnotkingyet
Summary: During Kent's sophomore year of college, his service dog died.





	Sophomore Year

“Shit,” Kent mumbled when his phone read off the time.  He rolled out of bed and grabbed jeans and a tee shirt from his dresser at random.  His hair was hopeless, so he stuck a snapback on as he filled Gracie’s bowl.  When he didn’t hear her come over he said, “Gracie-girl, we’re running late.”

“Swoops, you up?” Kent said, whacking his roommate’s bedframe. 

Even running late, Kent couldn’t take his meds on an empty stomach, so he sat down at his desk to eat a protein bar.  He could hear Jeff get out of bed and drowsily begin his day.  There was no sleepy breathing in the background.  No sound of Gracie’s nails on the tile as she trotted over to eat her breakfast.  Kent understood, at least subconsciously, what that meant, but it didn’t sink in until Swoops said, “Oh, Kent.”

That was where he lost several seconds.  It could have been a small absence seizure or simple panic.  The next Kent was aware of was his face pressed against Jeff’s shoulder while Jeff repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

After several minutes, Jeff said, "You're hyperventilating.  Let me get your emergency meds, okay?”

“No,” Kent said, shaking his head.  The medication he took for serious panic attacks knocked him on his ass.  Numbing himself like that—even just today—would feel like a disservice to Gracie.  Even now, having barely comprehended the loss, he felt an irrational need to grieve her on his own.

“Okay,” Swoops said, but Kent could hear his hesitation.

They stayed pressed together like that for a long time.  Jeff’s legs must have been killing him from kneeling awkwardly in front of Kent chair, but he didn’t say a word.  He just kept rubbing circles on Kent’s back and murmuring apologies.

Kent let himself be pulled back to bed and got under the covers, still in his jeans.  His hat had fallen off at some point, and he’d never gotten around to putting on shoes.  Swoops was on the phone, speaking quietly, and Kent was only half-aware of what he was saying.  Once he hung up, he spent a few more minutes typing.

“Your mom’s going to drive down as soon as she can get away from work,” Swoops said softly.  “I emailed your professors too.  Told them you would be out today and tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Kent said.  His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and pained.  “You can—You can get to class, Jeff.”

“Yeah, fat chance,” Swoops said.  There was a pause.  “Kent, I… I can’t make this better, but I can be here.”

“Thanks,” Kent croaked again.  He pressed his face into his pillow and tried to ignore the feeling that he was about to shake out of his skin.  The pillow was hot and damp against his face, but he stayed like that as long as he could stand it.

Kent didn’t sleep, but he dozed just enough time to take on a fuzzy and immeasurable quality.  At one point, he unlocked his phone to responded to a text from his mom and found himself clicking on Jack’s contact.  He typed out _Gracie died,_ and it was the first time he’d really put it to words.  Feeling a little sick, Kent erased the message and turned his phone off.

After a few hours, Jeff ordered take out.  He cajoled Kent into sitting up when it arrived, and they ate, shoulder to shoulder, in Kent’s bed while _The Office_ played on Jeff’s laptop.  Kent didn’t taste the food or hear the show, but he appreciated the company. 

Kent’s mother arrived not long after they had lunch.  Jeff had to go downstairs to let her into the building, and it hit Kent that he was going to have to cross campus without Gracie for the first time.  Since childhood, Gracie had been the tool that enabled his independence.  He could remember being seven and so furiously frustrated with everyone always trying to hold his hand.  The first day he went to elementary school with Gracie, the world changed.  Now, the doors she had opened were closed again.

“Kent?” Jeff said when he reentered the room and Kent was dumping stuff out of his desk drawer.

“I can’t find my meds,” Kent grunted, digging with one hand while the other patted a frantic rhythm against his pantleg.

“Here,” Jeff said.  Kent heard six quick footsteps and then a zipper.  “I packed them for you.  Sorry, I should have told you that.”

Jeff must have known Kent’s hands were shaking too bad to do it himself, because he opened the bottle and handed Kent one of the oblong pills.  Kent swallowed it dry and pressed his palms into the desk as he felt it slide down his throat.

“Let’s get you to the car before that kicks in, honey,” Kent’s mom said.  Her hands were soft and cold on his arm.  Kent nodded and listened as Jeff passed her Kent’s backpack.  It sounded heavy enough for him to know that Swoops had packed more than his meds.

“Thanks,” Kent said to his roommate.  He didn’t say what for—packing, getting lunch, staying with him, calling his mom, emailing his professors, being there.  “Thanks, Jeff.”

“Of course,” Jeff said, and then he hugged him.  It wasn’t a casual, one-armed hug like most guys did.  Both of Swoops’s arms were tight around him, and he squeezed before he let go.  “Text me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kent said, nodding.

The walk across campus was less disorienting than he expected.  While Gracie had always been with him before, this was his second year living on campus.  The gaps in his familiarity were blended over by his mom’s presence at his side, urging him along. 

Halfway to the car, a friendly voice said, “Hey, Kent, where’s Gracie?”  Then they saw Kent’s red eyes and his mother’s grip on his arm and said a quiet, “Oh, damn.”  Kent lowered his head without responding and kept walking.

“There’s a blanket in the backseat if you want it, baby,” she said once Kent was in the passenger seat of her car.  “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” Kent said.  She shut the door, and he leaned back in the seat with his eyes closed and tried not to think about the fact that something would have to be done with Gracie’s body.

Kent slept for most of the car ride.  When they arrived, Amy was home from school.  She cried a little, and Kent let her fuss over his hair and kiss his cheek while she sniffled.  Amy was only five when Kent got Gracie.  She could barely remember her brother without his dog.

Gracie was cremated that afternoon.  Kent wanted to scatter her ashes eventually, but in the moment he didn’t have the energy to do more than text Swoops updates and sit on the couch with his sister while she watched Harry Potter.  The next day, she skipped school to stay home with Kent while their mom worked, and they marathoned the rest of the series.  Kent had several small seizures, but none that required Amy to do more than move him into recovery position.

On Saturday, Kent checked his phone.  Although Jeff had been the one to email them, most of his professors had reached out to Kent.  They were all sympathetic, and most said not to worry about missing class for a few days.  He had a lot of texts from friends as well as a few people he barely knew, so he had Amy come up with a response he could copy and paste to everyone.

True to his generation, there were only a couple missed calls.  Kent listened to the messages and texted them the short paragraph Amy had written.  There was one that made him hesitate though.

_Missed call: Bob Zimmermann._

Kent considered it for a moment before he called back.  Bob’s message had been nonspecific, but there was enough concern in his voice for Kent to know he’d heard about Gracie.  The phone rang for a long time, and Kent had almost convinced himself that he’d get away with just leaving a message when Bob picked up.

“Hey, Kent,” he greeted.  “How are you, buddy?”

“As good as you can expect, I guess,” Kent said.  “You heard about Gracie?”

“Yeah, I did,” Bob said.  “I’m so sorry, Kent.”

“Thanks,” Kent said, clearing his throat.  “She was old, but she never had any health problems.  I guess I should be glad it was sudden and she didn't suffer, but I just… I didn’t expect it.”

“She loved you a lot,” Bob said.  “I remember how it always tore her up to have to be away from you while you were on the ice.”

“Yeah,” Kent said.  Now that hockey had been brought up, there was only one thing he could say.  “How’s Jack doing?”

“He’s good,” Bob said.  “Yeah, he’s really good.  The peewee kids love him.”

Kent could hear how proud he was.  The sound made something hot and unidentifiable flicker painfully in his stomach.  Jack had been terrified of letting his dad down, but listening to Bob talk about how proud he was that Jack, should-have-gone-first-Jack, was coaching peewee made Bob's disappointment hard to imagine.

The years Kent had spent as a fixture in the Zimmermann home were the closest he could remember to having a father.  Bob was a legend, but he was always happy to spend time with Jack's friends.  Kent’s own father had taken off when he was three and it finally sunk in for the man just how disabled his son was always going to be.  Bob had never had an issue with it though.  Maybe it was because he first encountered Kent at his most confident—on the ice—or maybe it was just because Kent wasn’t his kid.  Bob had adjusted to Kent’s blindness faster than most people did, learned seizure first aid, and spent every weekend for two months coaching Kent to the perfect slapshot.

Kent realized a second too late that he’d been quiet for too long.  He cleared his throat again and mumbled, “That’s—I’m glad.  I know… I know he doesn’t want to talk to me, but I’m glad he’s doing well,” Kent said.  “Thanks for calling, Bob.”

“You take care, alright, Kent?” Bob said.  “Don't be a stranger.  You’re always going to be a part of this family.”

Kent swallowed around the lump in his throat.  Alicia had said the same thing to him in the hospital after Jack’s overdose.  He’d spoken to her on the phone a couple of times, but they hadn’t met in person since then.  He wondered if she still felt the same way or if a year of watching her former-prodigy son’s climb out of rehab had changed that.

“Thanks, Bob,” Kent mumbled.  “Goodbye.”

“Bye, Kent.”

On Sunday, Kent and Amy went to mass.  It was the first time Kent had left the house since he’d gotten there on Thursday.  Amy chattered his ear off and walked a little too slow to be casual, but it went okay.  Once they were inside, the church ladies who’d seen their mother’s post on Facebook doted over Kent until the service began.

After lunch, Kent road back to school with his mother and sister.  The ride was quiet, and Kent sat in the front instead of the back since he no longer needed the extra room.  The lone bag that he’d brought home with him sat at his feet, and he crunched the water bottle in the bottom with the toe of his sneaker as they got closer.

When she parked the car, Kent’s mom didn’t get out.  She cut the radio off and dropped her keys heavily into the cup holder.  Her breathing changed, thoughtfully slow and a little self-conscious.  Kent waited for her to speak.

“It’s okay if you need to come home for a little while,” she said.  “No one would blame you, sweetheart.  Losing Gracie is a big deal.”

“But that doesn’t mean I have to give up on school,” Kent said.  He realized he sounded defensive and forced himself to soften his voice.  “I’m going to be okay, Mom.  Yeah, I’ve had Gracie, but I’ve been on this campus for over a year.  I’ve already been on the phone with disability services, and they said they can get someone to walk to class with me when one of my friends can’t.  Just until I’m comfortable.”

Kent’s mom sighed.  She knew Kent's mind was made up.  “You’ll use the cane?” she asked.

“I’ll use the cane,” Kent promised.  He didn’t say for how long or how regularly.

“And you’ll take care of yourself?”

“And I’ll take care of myself.”

“And if you need to—and I’m not saying you will—but if you need to, you’ll come home?”

“I’ll come home if I have to,” Kent said.  She didn’t comment on his change in phrasing.

“Alright,” she sighed.  “Let’s get you back upstairs to Jeff.  I’d guess he’s been lost without you this weekend.”

Kent laughed and opened his door.  The car next to them was a little close, but he slid out and grabbed his bag without hitting it.  Amy didn’t fare as well, and she swore out loud as she bent to examine the door.

“There’s nothing there,” she said over her mom’s protests.  “I swear, I didn’t ding it.  Tell her, Kenny.”

“I don’t see anything,” Kent deadpanned as he shouldered his backpack and let Amy smack him on the arm.

There wasn’t really a reason for Amy and their mom to walk him all the way to his door, but Kent didn’t comment.  When he let himself into the room, he heard Swoops pause the game he was watching immediately.

“Dude, you’re back!” Jeff said.  Kent laughed with his sister and mom, but he felt himself relax at ‘dude.’  All weekend, it had been baby, sweetheart, honey, buddy, kiddo.  Dude was back in the realm of things nineteen year olds didn’t mind being called.

“You be careful, okay?” his mom said.

“I will, Mom,” Kent promised.  He hugged her and let her pat his cheek, imagining her steeling herself the way she had when she sent him to hockey practice for the first time.  The way she had when he first went to college, skinny and still in a peculiar form of grief for Jack.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Kent didn’t mind the nickname too much.


End file.
